Eyes and Ears of This Institution
by MidnightBlue88
Summary: Carl the janitor: more than meets the eye? A run in with our favorite nerd changes everything for both of them. Takes place the Thursday before detention and includes cameos from other BC members. COMPLETE
1. A Day in the Life

Disclaimer: I do not own the Breakfast Club or any of the characters in the film.

Summary: Carl the janitor: more than meets the eye? A run in with our favorite nerd changes everything. Takes place the Thursday before detention.

A/N: Thanks to lazaefair, who had the brilliant idea of writing about someone other than the Fantastic Five. Now go update your Vernon story : )

* * *

Chapter One: A Day in the Life

* * *

Carl wiped a bead of sweat from his brow as he pushed his industrial-sized broom across the cafeteria floor. It was futile, he knew. Moments after he finished his circuit, there was already a fresh layer of crushed potato chips, carrot sticks, tater tots and Coke cans strewn across the tile floor. He sighed and used the smaller broom to sweep up the pile from his first trip and dump it into the trash bin.

"I still think we should ask Mr. Taylor for a Coke machine in the cafeteria."

Carl glanced over at the table next to him, where members of the Student council were organizing their thoughts for the day's meeting after school. A pretty girl with red hair and an expensive looking blouse sighed. "We've already tried that. He said no."

"Well, maybe we should try again." The girl across from her shrugged. "It isn't fair that the teachers get one and we don't."

The boy next to her nodded. "Emily's right, Claire. It's worth a shot. I mean, what's the worst can they do? Say no?"

The redhead rolled her eyes. "It's a waste of time."

Carl pushed the garbage can up to their table. "Got any trash?"

A few people offered some wrappers and juice boxes. "Thanks, Carl," said Emily.

"No problem. You hittin' up Taylor for a Coke machine?"

The boy sighed. "Maybe."

"You should try. He may seem like a tight-ass, but he'll give in. All you gotta do is just keep buggin' him about it."

The boy grinned. "How would you know?"

Carl smiled, remembering his own years on Shermer High School's Student Council back when Jack Taylor was only the Vice Principal. "I've just been workin' for him too long."

The boy turned to the redhead and tilted his head in Carl's direction. "See?"

The girl sighed. "Fine."

Carl smirked and pushed his garbage bin past the Student Council table over to the jock table, where one of the wrestlers, a short, muscular blonde, elbowed his friend in the ribs. "Are you sure this is right, man?"

His friend glanced at the sheet of notebook paper and shrugged. "How the hell should I know? I didn't write it."

The first boy rolled his eyes and continued copying the answers from one homework paper to another. Carl stepped forward and swept up a few pieces of lettuce that had fallen off of the table from one of the boy's many sandwiches. "You two havin' a little study session?"

The blonde boy glanced up. "Um…"

"I mean, personally, math was never my thing," he lied, dumping the lettuce into the garbage bin. "You're lucky to have such a generous friend helping you out."

The blonde boy's eyes widened. "Um, yeah. I guess so." He handed the paper back to his friend and glanced nervously over at Carl. "Maybe we should, you know, save the studying for after school."

Carl nodded. "That's probably a wise idea. As it is, you've got three sandwiches and a bag of cookies to eat and…" Carl glanced at his watch. "Only thirty-four minutes to do it."

The boy nodded at the clock on the cafeteria wall. "That one says we have forty."

"Oh, yeah. That's six minutes fast."

The wrestler cursed under his breath and picked up one of the sandwiches. Carl chuckled and pushed the trash barrel over to the table where most of the Physics Club ate. Carl took his broom and started sweeping up a huge pile of Cheetos had been dumped under one of the benches.

"So, I figured out that I can make an 84 on the mid-term and maintain my A for this grading period."

Carl looked at the boy who had spoken, a short redhead wearing a button-down shirt and slacks. He was surrounded by a few other boys, who were listening to his calculations with varying degrees of interest.

"But if I get anything less than an 84, I'll end up with a B plus." He sighed. "And you know what that means."

The other boys nodded solemnly and continued eating. One of their members, a tall, lanky boy with blonde hair, was staring at the clock on the wall above Carl's head. Suddenly, he snapped out of his reverie and looked over at his friends. "I'm, uh… I'm going to the bathroom."

His friends nodded distractedly and started talking about the Physics Club meeting that afternoon. Carl finished sweeping up the mess of Cheetos and pushed the trash bin past the orchestra table, where a couple of boys greeted him with a smile. He said hello and moved on to the far corner of the cafeteria, where a couple of boys were arguing in hushed tones about something he probably didn't want to know anything about.

Carl started whistling and rolled the garbage can away from their table. He pushed open the cafeteria doors and walked into the hall, where he removed the overflowing trash bag from the plastic bin and replaced it with a fresh one. He grabbed the used bag by the flaps at the top and carried it down the hall. As he passed one of the stairwells, he noticed a girl sitting alone on the steps drawing. He stopped and walked over to her. "Where'm I goin' today?"

The girl, who was dressed in blacks and greys from head to toe, gave him a crooked smile and held up the drawing. It wasn't finished, but he could see the beginnings of a steep cliff rising out of the ocean.

"Hmmm, looks like… Dover Beach?"

The girl grinned, letting him know that he was right, or at least close. He smiled. "That's nice, but keep in mind that I'm afraid of heights. You'll have to do something a little tamer next time."

The girl let out a little squeak of excitement and went back to her drawing. Carl continued his stroll through the winding corridors until he pushed open the door leading out to the west parking lot. Just as he was about to lift the bag into the dumpster, Carl looked out over rows of cars and laughed. There, in Miss Marchetta's 1979 baby blue Oldsmobile, was Tim Gray, one of the Chemistry teachers. Judging from the way they were wrapped around each other, he guessed that they probably weren't going over formulas.

Carl tore his eyes away from the pair of lip-locked science teachers and leaned back against the side of the dumpster. He and Julia used to do things like that. Back in college when he still had a future his parents could be proud of and she still had her beat-up 1967 Ford Falcon, they'd sit in the dorm parking lot and make out with Mick Jagger and the Bay City Rollers battling it out in the background.

Carl glanced around to make sure that no one was nearby, then pulled out a box of matches and package of cigarettes from inside of his uniform. He didn't usually smoke on school grounds, but he felt like he needed it today. In fact, what he could really use was a beer, but he would never dream of drinking on school grounds. The cigarette would have to do.

"Good afternoon, Carl."

Carl didn't look up. "Hello, John."

John Bender stepped in front of him and lifted his eyebrow. "Smoking, Carl?" He clucked his tongue. "What would Jack say if he caught you out here like this?"

Carl smirked at the memory of Principal Jack Taylor leaning against the dumpster next to him, telling him all about his mother-in-law while he chain-smoked the last of Carl's pack. "He'd probably ask if I had a light."

John furrowed his brow in confusion, then smirked. "_Do_ you have a light?"

Carl glared at him. "No. Now get outta here before I tell _Jack_ what you were doin' in the teachers' lounge last week."

John grinned lazily. "Actually, I'd kind of like to see the look on his face when he finds out what was _really_ brewing in the coffee maker that day."

Carl pointed to the door behind him. "Go. Now."

John saluted and disappeared into the building. Carl sighed and took one last drag on his cigarette before stubbing it out against the side of the dumpster and throwing it in along with the trash bag. One last glance at the baby blue Oldsmobile and he was back inside, where he had the honor of pushing a broom around after shit heads like John Bender.

* * *

A/N: Please let me know what you think, good or bad. 


	2. Everybody's Got Something to Hide

A/N: Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Two: Everybody's Got Something to Hide

* * *

After throwing the garbage bag into the dumpster, Carl reentered the building through the side door that led to the south hallway. He made a quick stop at his supply closet for more trash bags, then continued down the hall to the cafeteria. When he turned down the next corridor, he noticed a boy standing in front of one of the lockers, spinning the dial over and over again as though he couldn't remember the combination. Carl recognized him as the blonde boy from the Physics table.

"You forget the combination?"

The boy jumped back as though he'd been electrocuted. When he looked up, Carl noticed that he had tears running down his cheeks. "You okay?"

The boy nodded, brushing them away. "I was just, you know… trying to get a book."

Carl nodded, though he could tell that the boy was lying, or at least hiding something. "You need some help with that?"

The boy shook his head a little too quickly. "No, it's okay. I just… I can get it." He turned back to the locker and started spinning the dial again, around and around and around. He pushed up on the handle, but the door didn't move. The boy paused for a moment, then slammed the palm of his hand against the locker door in frustration.

"Hey, listen, kid. I got a bolt cutter in my closet that'll cut that lock right off. I can get you a new one, too."

The boy stared at his locker for a moment and didn't answer. Finally, he looked over at Carl and nodded mutely. Carl smiled and started leading him down the hall. "So, what's your name?"

The boy wiped his nose with his sleeve. "Brian."

"Hello, Brian. I'm Carl." He stuck out his hand and the boy shook it uncertainly. "It's a beautiful day, isn't it?"

Brian shrugged. "I guess."

Carl unlocked the door to the supply closet and pulled it open. The closet was actually about half the size of a classroom with shelves lining the back wall and stacks of chairs along the sides. Carl grabbed a three chairs from the stack and placed them on the ground. "Go ahead. Have a seat."

Brian furrowed his brow in confusion. "What about the lock?"

Carl ignored him and sat down, using the one of the other chairs for a footrest. "You like ham and Swiss?" He grabbed a rumpled brown bag from one of the shelves behind him and peeked inside. "I've also got some crackers, a banana and some Tootsie Rolls. Take your pick."

Brian narrowed his eyes as he took a seat in the remaining chair. "Is that your lunch?"

"Of course." He lifted an eyebrow. "What, you think us janitors don't eat?"

Brian's eyes widened. "No, I didn't… I mean, I don't-"

Carl laughed. "Here. You look like a Ham and Swiss kind of guy." He handed him half of the sandwich before taking a large bite of his own piece. Brian held the offering tentatively, as if worried that it might be poisoned or something. Finally, he took a small bite.

"So, what grade are you in?"

Brian swallowed. "Um, I'm a sophomore."

"You're in the Physics Club?"

"Yeah. How did you know?"

"I've seen you before." Carl took another bite of his sandwich and swallowed it down. Both of them chewed silently for a few minutes until Brian finished off his half of the sandwich. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and glanced up at Carl nervously. "Um, thanks for the, you know, the sandwich, but I should really be-"

"You like music?"

Brian, who was half out of his seat by then, hesitated, then sat back down. "Um, yeah, of course."

Carl stood and walked over to one of the shelves lining the wall. He pulled forward an old tape deck covered in paint splatters. "You a Beatles fan?"

"Um, I don't know. I've never really-"

"Listen to this one. It's genius."

Carl pushed the play button and turned up the volume a notch. Brian glanced nervously at the half-open door as the sounds of an orchestra burst through the tiny speakers. "Um, are we allowed to do that?"

Carl shrugged and took his seat again. "No one's around. Besides, most of us old fogies grew up on this stuff." He motioned towards the stereo. "So, what do you think?"

"Um, what are they saying?"

Carl started humming along and chimed in when they got to the chorus. "I am the walrus…"

Brian narrowed his eyes. "It's about walruses?"

"No."

"But he said..."

Carl picked up his banana and started peeling it. "It's not about anything. It's just gibberish."

"Gibberish?"

"Yeah, it's not supposed to make sense."

Brian glanced over at the tape player in bewilderment. "Why isn't it supposed to make sense? That doesn't…"

"Make sense?" Carl smirked. "There are a lot of things in life that don't make sense. This is just one of them."

Brian shifted uncomfortably in his seat as the song carried on around him. "_I am the walrus…_" Carl dug into his lunch sack and offered Brian a Tootsie roll. "Here."

"Thanks." Brian accepted the candy and unwrapped it very slowly, still absorbed in his thoughts. Carl watched him closely, wondering what was going on in his head. He seemed so preoccupied, like there was something he just couldn't stop thinking about no matter how hard he tried. Something big.

"So, what do you do in your spare time?"

Brian blinked. "Um, well, I'm in the physics…" He counted off on his fingers. "…Physics Club and the, uh, the Latin Club and the Math Club."

"That's a lot of clubs."

Brian nodded solemnly. "They look good on college applications."

Carl let out a little chuckle. "Yeah, I know."

Brian didn't catch the ironic tone to his voice. "I'm the president of the Latin Club, so that's especially going to look good to colleges because it shows that I can, like, be a good leader and stuff."

Carl smiled wanly, wondering if being president of the student body had anything to do with getting his own acceptance letters. "So, what else do you do?"

Brian looked confused. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, do you play sports or music or what?"

Brian paused. "Well, I'm not allowed to play sports because my mom was always worried that I would get hurt."

"What about hobbies then?"

Brian blushed. "Actually, I'm a philatelist. That means that I-"

"You collect stamps. How many you got?"

"127."

Carl whistled. "Any of 'em worth anything?"

He nodded. "A couple of them were my grandfather's, so they're really old. Most of the others belonged to my dad."

"You and your dad do that stuff together?"

Brian nodded. "Yeah, he loves it. And for me, you know, it's the only time that we really get to…" He shifted his jaw uncomfortably. "…that we get to hang out."

Carl watched him closely. "Does he work a lot?"

"Yeah."

"What does he do?"

"He's an accountant."

Carl felt his breath catch in his throat. "Oh." He paused. "That's… that's hard work."

Brian nodded distractedly. Carl pushed his own feelings aside and focused on the boy sitting in front of him. "Is that what you want to do?"

Brian shrugged. "I don't know."

"What are you good at?"

"Science, I guess."

"Do you like school?"

"Um, yeah. Of course, I…" He paused. "I like learning new things."

"You make good grades?"

At this, Brian froze and Carl knew that he'd hit the nail on the head. He watched Brian's eyes flicker down to his shoes. "Um… most of the time."

"Yeah?" Carl paused. "You on the honor roll?"

"Um, yeah."

"I'll bet your parents are proud of you."

Brian took a deep breath. "Yeah, I guess so," he said quietly.

Carl nodded slowly. "That's…" He clenched his jaw, remembering the proud look on his father's face the day he graduated from Northwestern University. He swallowed the memory and looked back up at Brian. "That's good."

Brian nodded, though he seemed about a million miles away from the conversation. Carl leaned back in his chair and he ate his way through a handful of crackers as The Magical Mystery Tour carried on in the background. After a few minutes, he stood up and turned the tape off. Brian jumped slightly, the silence jerking him out of his thoughts. His eyes flickered around the room nervously. "Um, I need to go."

Carl nodded. "Sure."

Brian took a deep breath. "Can you still cut my lock off?" He paused. "'Cause there's something I need to get out of it."

"Sure." Carl grabbed the bolt cutters from his tool kit and an extra lock from a box on the shelf. "It'll just take a minute and-"

The bell rang, cutting him off. Brian's mouth dropped open as he glanced out into the hallway. "Oh, God. I…"

"Hey, it's alright. Did you need something from it right away?"

Brian sighed. "No. There was just…" His voice became very hollow. "… there was just something I needed to do."

Carl nodded slowly. "Well, you probably don't have time now, but I can replace the lock for you during class and leave the combination stuck to the back."

Brian glanced up. "Really?"

"Sure."

"So, I can use my locker after this period?"

"That's generally how it works."

Brian nodded. "Okay." He grabbed his backpack from the floor slung it over one shoulder. "Um, thanks, you know… for the sandwich and the music and all."

Carl grinned. "No problem." He followed Brian into the hallway and watched him walk down the hallway. When he turned into a classroom, Carl shook his head and leaned against the wall. A few students said hello as they walked by and he returned the greetings, though his brain was somewhere else entirely. There was something bothering him, but he couldn't really put his finger on exactly what it was.

After a while, Carl remembered that he'd left his trash bin sitting all by itself outside of the cafeteria, which hadn't been cleaned yet. Whistling 'I Am the Walrus', he locked the closet door and walked back to the cafeteria, where he had about fourteen hundred shitheads to clean up after.

* * *

A/N: I quoted some lyrics from 'I Am the Walrus' by the Beatles. 


	3. Tell Me What You See

A/N: Lazaefair, you're right. I went to a big HS and there was definitely more than one janitor. As far as older janitors from Carl's days still being around? Also possible (and likely) but I've got other plans for this story and that probably won't fit in very well. Then again, who says this is going to be my only Carl fic? ;)

Thanks for all of the reviews. I'm so glad that there are other Carl fans out there!

* * *

Chapter Three: Tell Me What You See

* * *

Carl made it back to the cafeteria just as the fourth period bell rang. His garbage bin had been tucked into a corner where the students were less likely to see it and use it as a scooter or start pushing it up and down the hallway. When he peeked into the cafeteria, he found that it had already been swept up for him, probably by George, who was the oldest and most responsible member of their crew. He was old, but he was also as strong as an ox and got things done before most of his younger counterparts even thought about getting started.

Carl collected his trash can and pushed it back down the hallway to take care of trash left on the stairwells. For some reason, the stairs tended to be even messier than the floors, probably because the students would finish their lunches on the way to class and drop the sacks and wrappers anywhere they could. Carl used his broom and dust pan to sweep up some Coke cans on the southwest stairwell before starting down the hall in the math wing.

Before he could tackle the next set of stairs, one of the math teachers, Mr. Ryan, came out of the Math Department office holding a coffee mug in one hand. When he saw the janitor, he smiled warmly. "Hello, Carl."

"How you doin', Mr. Ryan?"

Mr. Ryan waved him off. "How many times do I have to tell you? It's James."

Carl shook his head. "I don't know, _Mr. Ryan_. Old habits die hard." He chuckled. "You still torturing your students with two-part mid-terms?"

"Wouldn't you be disappointed if I wasn't?" Mr. Ryan smiled. "Though, if I remember correctly, it didn't cause you many problems."

"You say that because you didn't see me stayin' up the night before, chuggin' coffee just to stay awake." Carl nodded at Mr. Ryan's mug. "I don't even like coffee."

Mr. Ryan shook his head. "I don't either, but I need the caffeine just to get through my own classes."

"Calculus?"

"No, accounting." He chuckled. "Maybe someday I'll just take an extra lunch hour and let you teach it for me."

Carl laughed. "I haven't done that stuff in years. I wouldn't even know where to begin."

"Oh, somehow I doubt that." Mr. Ryan paused thoughtfully and took a sip of his coffee. Though his former teacher was too nice to say anything, Carl was pretty sure that he knew what the man was thinking. What the hell was his star student doing mopping floors and sweeping up Coke cans? Mr. Ryan wasn't the only one either. Even after eight years on the janitorial staff, most of the faculty were still under the impression that he just wanted "a change of pace" or that he was just too lazy to cut it at a real job. He didn't bother to correct them; better to let them think he was an idiot than to know what really happened.

"So, how are things with-"

BOOM!

Carl and Mr. Ryan jumped, startled by the sudden noise. Mr. Ryan spilled his coffee on the sleeve of his button-down shirt and let out a little shout of pain. Carl collected himself rather quickly and pushed his garbage bin into a corner. "That sounded really close."

Mr. Ryan nodded and set his mug down next to Carl's garbage bin. They walked quickly down the hallway and around the corner, where the air was filled with a thin layer of smoke. The source was a smoldering locker and it's contents, which were spread all over the ground in front of it. Papers and textbooks were still on fire, flames licking their edges.

"I'll call the fire department." Mr. Ryan took off in the direction they'd come from, leaving Carl alone with the wreckage. He took a bandana from his pocket and held it up to his nose so that he could get closer to the locker. In addition to the paper on the floor, he could see more papers and notebooks burning inside. A charred textbook leaned up against the wall of the locker and something plastic had melted and collected in a pool at the bottom.

"Oh, my God…"

Carl glanced up to see several students poking their heads out of a nearby classroom. Their teacher pulled them back inside and glanced out at Carl. "What happened?" she asked.

"I don't know. Mr. Ryan's calling the fire department. I think it's best to just keep them in the classroom. It's pretty smoky out here."

The young woman nodded and shut the door, leaving Carl alone again. He took another step toward the locker, still holding the bandana up to his nose. He used the toe of his shoe to turn over a binder and noticed a bunch of tiny papers smoldering on the ground. He narrowed his eyes and crouched down to get a closer look. Most of them were charred beyond recognition, but a few were not. He picked up one of the pieces that hadn't been burned too badly and held it up to the light. It was a picture of Ben Franklin, green on a paler green background. On the top it read, "U.S. POSTAGE" and on the bottom it read, "ONE CENT".

Without having to look at the number on the door, Carl knew whose locker he was standing in front of.

* * *

"Well, this was definitely the culprit." The fireman used his gloved index finger to lift a black, deformed flare gun from the mess inside of the burned out shell of a locker. He let the gun dangle from his finger as he looked up at Carl with a bored expression on his face. "Boy Scout?"

Carl shrugged. "How the hell should I know?"

The fireman placed the flare gun into a clear plastic bag and handed it to a co-worker, then continued sifting through the rubble. "What are these?"

"Stamps."

The fireman's eyebrows went up. "Damn, I hope they weren't worth anything."

"I have a feeling they were."

The man shook his head and lifted up another bunch of papers. "Looks like he had a piggy bank in here, too." He picked up a few tiny pieces of glazed ceramic. "I wonder if there was any money in it."

Carl stood up and dusted himself off. The hallway was empty except for Mr. Ryan, who had a free period, and one of the English teachers. The two of them were chatting quietly a few feet away, motioning every once in a while towards the disaster in front of them. When Carl walked up beside them, Mr. Ryan looked up expectantly.

"Flare gun."

Mr. Ryan's eyebrows went up. "Really?"

"Yeah."

The math teacher shook his head. "I don't understand. Why would he have a flare gun?"

"Who knows?" Carl paused. "You know who's locker it is?"

Mr. Ryan nodded. "Some of the papers were legible. His name's Brian Johnson. He's one of my students. Good kid, too."

Carl nodded. "I'm sure he is."

Mr. Ryan sighed. "I just hope they don't expel him for this. Vernon's mad. I know he'll be pushing for it."

Carl thought about this for a minute. "What did Taylor say?"

Mr. Ryan shrugged. "He hasn't said anything yet. I think he wants to talk to the boy first."

"Good." Carl nodded. "That's good. I think he should do that."

Mr. Ryan nodded distractedly and the English teacher beside him asked another question about the fire. Carl stepped away from the pair and nodded at the fireman to follow him. The two of them started walking down the hall together and didn't say anything until they reached the front of the school, where Carl had a clear view of the fire truck parked along the curb. He turned to the man standing next to him. "How's Caroline?"

The man shrugged. "She's fine. Looks like she's got a basketball tucked under her dress." He smiled. "Just one more month."

"You ready?"

"Hell, no."

Carl laughed. "Should've stuck with the dog, Mike."

Mike rolled his eyes in agreement. "When this shit's all over with, we're havin' you and Julia over for dinner." He paused. "Hell, we're goin' _out _to dinner and you two can babysit, how's that sound?"

Carl hit him on the arm. "Sounds like bullshit to me. Now, get the hell outta here before I chase you out."

Mike frowned. "When did you get to be such an asshole?"

"I've always been one. You were just too dumb to notice."

Mike shook his head and started walking towards the door. "Later, Mr. President."

"Later, Mr. Secretary."

Mike waved before walking out the front door. Just before it closed behind him, he stuck his head back in. "And tell that kid with the fire alarm fetish to get a goddamned life, will ya? I'm more sick of this place now than I was when I went here."

"Boo fuckin' hoo."

Mike laughed and ducked back outside. Carl watched him jump into the passenger side of the fire truck before it took off down the street again. He knew he needed to get back to the burned out locker before the bell rang, but instead, he wandered over to the display cases lining the wall. Trophies, plaques, awards, and photographs were showcased neatly behind the glass. Carl glanced over at the Student Council pictures in the case on the far left. Under the year 1971 was a picture of five students, four boys and one girl. Mike, the Class Secretary, was off to the side looking rather bored while Carl, the Class President, was grinning widely from his position in the middle.

Carl looked away from the picture and took a few steps to the left. Man of the Year was a big deal at Shermer, but no one had really been surprised when he'd won. He gazed down at the photo in the middle, where an eighteen-year-old version of himself smiled back. Damn, he was even wearing a suit and tie, which was a hell of a lot better than a dingy grey jumpsuit.

After a few seconds, Carl turned away from the display case and started back down the hall towards the burned out locker. No use crying over spilt milk. Or shattered dreams.


	4. Ask Me Why

A/N: Thanks for reading!

* * *

Chapter Four: Ask Me Why

* * *

Carl was sweeping up in front of the administrative offices during last period when the door swung open and two boys shuffled out of Mr. Vernon's office. One was the blonde wrestler he'd seen copying his friend's homework during lunch and the other was the redheaded boy who'd been calculating test scores at the physics table. Neither of them looked very happy and Carl figured he knew why when Richard Vernon followed them out into the hall.

"Alright, Clark, get to class. And you…" He nodded at the redhead as though he couldn't quite remember his name. "Just… go to the nurse's office or something."

Vernon went back into the office and closed the door behind him. The boys, who were dressed in their gym clothes, eyed one another nervously. The wrestler opened his mouth to say something, then changed his mind and turned away. The redhead watched him walk down the hall and disappear around a corner, then sighed. When he noticed Carl, he gave the janitor a sad smile. "Hi, Carl."

"Hey there. You get in trouble?"

"No, he did." The redhead nodded down the hall, indicating the path the wrestler had taken on his way back to class. He took a step forward and winced slightly at the movement. "I just get to go home early."

"That sounds fair."

The boy shrugged. "Not really. I'm missing Mr. Ryan's lesson on logarithms."

Carl chuckled. "I wouldn't worry about it too much. If you paid attention for exponentials, logarithms'll be a breeze."

The redhead wrinkled his nose. "Really? I thought-"

"Trust me, kid. You've got nothin' to worry about."

The boy sighed. "I guess not." He glanced outside, where a pale blue minivan was pulling up to the curb. "Well, that's my mom. I'll see you later, Carl."

"You bet." Carl watched him hobble outside, wincing in pain every few seconds. He paused uncertainly when he opened the passenger side door, then hoisted himself up into the seat and shut the door. When the vehicle pulled away from the curb, Carl turned away and went back to sweeping.

A few minutes later, Vernon walked out into the hall, wiping his nose with a tissue. When he saw Carl, he nodded in greeting.

"Afternoon, Dick."

"Carl." Vernon wiped his nose once more and stuck the tissue into the pocket of his burnt orange trousers.

"Everything alright?"

Vernon sighed. "It's been one helluva day, I'll tell you. You see those two?" he asked, referring to the wrestler and the redheaded boy. Carl nodded and Vernon continued. "Clark taped the boy's butt cheeks together, if you can believe it. I've got Coach Sanford in one ear telling me the kid's got a meet next Saturday and can we work something out so he doesn't miss it. On the other side, I've got this other kid's mom on the phone, worried her son's going to get some kind of infection." Vernon smirked. "If you ask me, it's actually pretty damn funny."

Carl lifted his eyebrows doubtfully and Vernon cleared his throat. "Anyway, then I get a call from some schmuck tryin' to get his daughter out of detention this weekend. And then there's this whole flare gun thing." Vernon rolled his eyes. "If they want my opinion, they should ship the kid off to crazy camp, because that's where he belongs."

"And why's that?"

Vernon furrowed his brow in disbelief. "He brought a goddamned gun to school! Lord knows what he was planning to do with it."

Carl shrugged. "He probably just wanted to show it off to his friends."

Vernon scoffed. "Yeah, and then set the school on fire and have a marshmallow roast."

"Hmmm, tasty."

Carl and Vernon whirled around to find John Bender standing a few feet away, smirking. "You got any graham crackers, Dick? 'Cause I love s'mores."

"It's Mr. Vernon to you, Bender. And what the hell are you doing out of class?"

Bender ignored the question and looked over at Carl innocently. "How come you get to call him Dick and I don't? That doesn't seem fair."

Vernon glared at him. "I asked you a question."

"Maybe I'll answer it on Saturday."

"Saturday?"

"Yeah, you know, in detention."

Vernon paused warily. "You don't have detention this weekend."

Bender gasped. "I don't?" He shook his head sadly. "But, Dick, it's the only time we ever get to see each other anymore. And you never did finish that story about the transvestite you picked up in Tijuana. I was hoping to catch the end of it in detention."

Vernon was turning a rather vibrant shade of red. "Get to class, Bender."

"But what about Saturday?"

"Consider your freedom a present for the both of us."

Bender clucked his tongue. "Now, Dick, you don't mean that."

"Like hell I don't."

Bender smiled with mock sadness. "I'll find a way for us to be together again. You just wait and see." With that, the teenager bowed slightly and started off in the direction he'd come from.

"Smug little prick," Vernon muttered. Carl managed to keep the smile off his face, though it was difficult with a guy like Vernon. The vice principal glanced at his watch. "I've got some calls to make." Without saying goodbye, Vernon disappeared back into his office and shut the door soundly behind him. Carl chuckled and continued sweeping.

Within fifteen minutes, Carl had finished the entire hallway and was preparing to take another garbage bag out to the dumpster. Just as he finished tying it up, the door to the principal's office opened and a boy stepped out. He slumped down onto the wooden bench by the wall and stared blankly at the opposite wall.

"Hey, Brian."

The kid looked up at Carl. "Hi," he said flatly.

Carl hesitated for a moment before walking over to him, unsure if the boy really wanted to be bothered or not. He looked so defeated, like he was just waiting for the ax to fall. "Sounds like you've had a rough day."

Brian didn't move. "Yeah."

"Did you talk to Mr. Taylor?"

"He's talking with my dad right now."

"Oh." Carl glanced at the door's frosted window, but couldn't see anything, of course. "Did everything go alright?"

Brian shrugged. "He gave me a detention."

Carl nodded, realizing that Brian had absolutely no idea how bad it could have been for him, especially if Vernon would have been in charge of that decision. "That doesn't sound too bad." When Brian lifted his eyebrows doubtfully, Carl smiled. "Who knows? Maybe you'll make some new friends."

Brian scoffed. "Yeah, right." He looked up at Carl nervously. "Have you seen my locker?" When Carl nodded, he went on. "Is it bad?"

Carl paused. "Yeah."

Brian looked down at the floor. "What does it look like?"

"The force flung the door open, so everything ended up on the floor. The inside is totally burned out… and so is most of your stuff."

Brian buried his face in his hands, his shoulders moving up and down with every labored breath. Carl waited for him to look up again before taking a small plastic bag from his pocket. "I don't know if it was worth it or not, but I saved these for you." Brian accepted the bag from him and opened it up. "Most of the others were burned up, but some were okay."

Brian held out the stamp Carl had been looking at earlier, the green one with Ben Franklin. "This was my dad's." He paused. "It was worth a lot of money."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Brian took another deep breath. "Over five hundred dollars."

Carl's eyebrows went up. "That _is_ a lot of money."

Brian nodded. "I know… and so does he."

Carl remembered what Brian had told him earlier about his father, that he was an accountant who worked long hours. He wondered how this would affect their relationship, if it would be stronger or weaker as a result. He wondered if the man even knew how much his son idolized him.

Brian slipped the bag into his shirt pocket and sat up a little straighter on the bench. "I didn't realize, you know? That it would do that. I didn't know it would go off without me even touching it."

"Flare guns are tricky. They're very sensitive."

"Apparently." Brian glanced up at Carl nervously. "Don't you even…" He cleared his throat. "Aren't you… you know, aren't you going to ask me why I had it?"

Carl looked him in the eye. "Do you want me to ask you?"

Brian froze uncertainly and looked at Carl very seriously for a moment. Just as he opened his mouth to say something, the door to Taylor's office opened and a man with thick brown hair and a pair of wire-rimmed glasses walked out. Taylor followed him into the hall and the men shook hands. "Thank you for coming down to speak with me, Mr. Johnson."

Carl watched the two men exchange pleasantries, but he wasn't absorbing any of it. He stared at man's back, wondering if it would be worse for him to turn around and see the janitor standing there or to walk away without ever even knowing. Carl looked over at Brian, who had risen from the bench and was watching his father apprehensively, trying to gauge his mood. He glanced over at Carl, who shot him an encouraging smile, then turned back to his father. The man finished speaking with Taylor and started leading his son down the hall. "I can't believe this is happening."

"I'm sorry. I didn't-"

"I don't know how I'm going to tell your mother. Jesus, Brian, what the hell were you thinking?"

Brian's answer was swallowed by the cold spring air. When the door shut behind them, Carl released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He clutched the side of the garbage bin in front of him, still trying to digest the situation. It didn't work. No matter how hard he tried, he still couldn't believe it, because for the first time in eight years, Carl had shared breathing room with Harold Johnson. Harold Johnson, father to Brian and husband to Marie, Vice President of RCP International, the man who kept framed baby pictures of his children on his massive oak desk, who carried a thermos of chicken noodle soup with him to lunch everyday.

Harold Johnson, the man who'd cost Carl Reed his job… and his future.


	5. I've Just Seen a Face

A/N: Thanks for reading and reviewing! I'd still love to hear what you think.

* * *

Chapter Five: I've Just Seen a Face

* * *

"I feel sorry for that kid."

Carl looked up from his trash barrel to see Jack Taylor standing just outside of the doorway to his office. He glanced over at Carl and lifted his eyebrows. "He's gonna have a rough time at home. I can tell."

Carl nodded mutely, trying to get his heart to stop beating so rapidly. Eight years. He could have gone eight _hundred _years without seeing Harold Johnson again and his life would have been the better for it.

Jack shook his head. "I could use a cigarette."

Carl took a deep breath. "Yeah, me, too."

The principal narrowed his eyes. "You got any on you?"

Carl reached into his jumpsuit and pulled out his pack, which was still half full. Jack glanced at his watch. "We've got ten minutes before the final bell rings."

Carl grabbed the garbage bag he'd been meaning to take out to the dumpster and the two men walked across the school and out to the faculty parking lot. Carl threw the bag into the dumpster and pulled out his pack again. After he lit their cigarettes, he leaned against the dumpster and took a drag. "So, how's your mother-in-law?"

Jack smiled. "Still a miserable old wench. How's Julia?"

"Same."

Jack burst out laughing and Carl smiled. He took a couple more drags before glancing over at Jack warily. "So, that was Harold Johnson."

Jack nodded. "Yep."

Carl paused. "I used to work for him."

Jack looked over at him, eyes narrowed. "He's not…"

"The one and only."

"You're kidding me!" Jack shook his head. "What a small world."

Carl nodded in agreement. "You're tellin' me."

Jack took another drag on his cigarette, still shaking his head at the revelation. "So, this is the first time you've seen him since he fired you?"

Carl laughed. "Fired. That's a funny to put it, but yeah. It's the first time."

Jack sighed angrily. "If I'd have known, I would have called the police and had him kicked out of my school."

"You can't do that. He didn't do anything to you."

"Like hell he didn't! You were one of my best students and he screwed you into the ground. I take that personally."

Carl didn't say anything. He appreciated Jack's anger and appreciated the fact that he was sticking up for him, but it wasn't what he needed just then. He had enough anger for the both of them; what he needed was to be able to forget again. Forget the expression on Harold Johnson's face when Carl confronted him about the money, the numbers that just didn't add up. Forget his boss' clipped, impersonal tone: _"Resign and we can sweep all of this under the rug and you can leave with a clear name. Otherwise, I won't have much of a choice but to fire you…" _Sometimes he thought it would have been better if he really was to blame, if he was the one who'd taken the money, if he really had done all those things they'd said he did. At least then there'd be reason for him to be mopping floors. At least then he'd know that he got what was coming to him.

"I'm going back to the school board."

Carl snapped out of his reverie and looked over at Jack. "What?"

"I said I'm gonna talk to the school board again."

"No." Carl sighed tiredly. "They didn't listen the last five times and they're not going to listen now."

"I'll make them listen."

Carl shook his head. "They're not going to do it."

Jack threw his cigarette butt onto the cement and used the toe of his shoe to crush it into the ground. "You could teach those damn math classes better than half of the idiots I've got doing it now. Accounting, too. Ryan's gonna be retiring soon. You could take his place."

Carl kept shaking his head; the offer sounded better than anything he'd heard in a long time, but that only made it worse. "They're not going to do it. They don't want criminals in the classroom."

"You're not a criminal, Carl."

"On paper, I am."

"Well, the both of us know differently."

"I don't think they give a _damn _what the both of us know."

Jack looked surprised at Carl's harsh tone. Despite their comfortable relationship, Carl still treated him like his principal. He took a deep breath and gave Jack an apologetic look. "I'm sorry. I appreciate what you're trying to do. I just… I don't want you to put yourself on the line like that."

"It's worth it."

"Not anymore."

"Why not? I don't want you mopping my floors for the rest of your life. You're better than that, Carl. Too damn smart."

Carl clenched his jaw and stuck the cigarette between his lips so that he wouldn't say anything stupid. He felt the anger building up again, though he couldn't tell if it was directed at Harold Johnson for firing him, Jack for giving him hope in a future that didn't exist, or Carl himself for being stupid enough to get himself fired in the first place. Because, at the end of the day, Jack was right; he _was_ too damn smart to be mopping floors, but that was almost beside the point. After eight years, it was clear as day that he wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. Jack Taylor getting angry at the school board for refusing to let Carl teach wouldn't change one goddamn thing. It was time that they both came to terms with that.

"Maybe you should just fire me then."

Jack looked over at him incredulously. "What?"

Carl laughed. "I said maybe you should just fire me. You don't want me sweeping up after your students and I'm not quitting. It may be the only way to get rid of me."

Jack narrowed his eyes, but the corners of his mouth were curling up. Inside the school, the final bell rang, signaling the end of class for the day. Carl stubbed out his cigarette against the side of the dumpster and threw it inside. Jack started straightening his tie. "Do I smell like smoke?"

"Yes."

The principal rolled his eyes. "I've got a student council meeting in five minutes. What a role model I am, sneaking smokes out by the dumpsters with former students."

Carl chuckled. "Yeah, it may be you getting fired next, not me."

Jack shook his head. "It would almost be worth it for that cigarette." He finished buttoning up his coat and popped a breath mint into his mouth.

"About that student council meeting, I should warn you."

Jack looked at him wearily. "About what?"

"They're gonna petition for a Coke machine in the cafeteria."

Jack sighed. "What, do they think we're made of money or something?"

Carl shrugged. "The teachers have one. Why shouldn't the kids?"

Jack narrowed his eyes. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you had something to do with this."

"Who, me?" Carl smiled innocently. "I haven't asked you for something that expensive in thirteen years."

Jack chuckled. "Damn, I'm getting old." He paused. "So, a Coke machine, huh?"

"You should give it to 'em."

Jack allowed himself a slow smile. "Probably." He waved at Carl and started back towards the door. "Thanks for the cigarette."

"Of course." Carl watched the door close behind him and settled back against the dumpster again. He looked out at the faculty parking lot and smiled. Mr. Gray and Miss Marchetta were in her car again, but they weren't making out this time. Instead, it looked like they were searching for something. After a couple of minutes, Miss Marchetta pulled herself out of the backseat and held up her hand triumphantly. Mr. Gray smiled sheepishly and accepted his tie from the biology teacher.

After a few minutes, Carl collected his thoughts and himself and reentered the building. He weaved in and out of the throngs of students stopping by their lockers and chatting with friends before leaving for the day. When he made his way back to the hallway in front of the administrative offices, he found that his garbage bin was nowhere in sight. Damn kids. They were probably using it as a roller coaster ride on the ramp outside by the student parking lot.

"Looking for this?"

Carl whirled around to find George leaning against his garbage bin, the two of them tucked into a corner near the main stairwell. Carl grinned and walked over to him. "As a matter of fact, I was."

"You've been leaving it all over the place today. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were slackin' off."

Carl chuckled. "Maybe I was."

George grinned slowly, his leathery old skin folding up like a map. "In that case, I'll have to report you. Unless…"

"Unless what?"

"Unless you give me one of those cigarettes you hide in your jumpsuit."

Carl laughed and removed the pack. "Here. Take one."

George took three sticks from the pack and tucked them into his pocket. "Glad to see Taylor didn't clean you out this time."

Carl grinned. "You don't miss a thing, do you, George?"

George's shaggy eyebrows went up. "No, but neither do you." He patted Carl on the arm before brushing past him and hobbling quite quickly down the hall. Carl watched him disappear down the next corridor, then put the cigarettes back where they belonged and started for the nearest stairwell to start sweeping up the last of the day's Coke cans and candy wrappers.

At 5:00, Carl collected his broom and dust pan and paused at the door to the cafeteria, where a small group of students was filtering out, talking amongst themselves. He recognized the tall brown-haired boy he'd spoken to during lunch.

"I told you, Claire. All we had to do was ask."

The redheaded girl rolled her eyes and swung her purse over her shoulder. "You were right, okay? You don't have to rub it in."

Carl smiled as the group disappeared through the large set of double doors that led to the student parking lot. He glanced at his watch. 5:06. Time to get the hell outta there.

Carl collected his supplies and headed back to the janitor's closet. He fumbled with the lock for a moment before the door swung open and a piece of paper lodged under the door floated on top of his boot. When Carl saw what it was, he laughed. On one side was a very familiar picture of Dover Beach with its steep, white cliffs jutting out over the ocean and on the other side was a picture of a tiny stream flowing through a clearing in the woods. In addition to the usual trees and bushes, the artist had also added a few other woodland animals drinking from the stream alongside one another. Deer, squirrels, rabbits and even foxes existing in total harmony. It would never happen in real life, Carl knew; the fox would be more likely to feast on the rabbit than to share it's drinking hole, but it was a beautiful dream. _Something a little tamer…_

Carl smiled and folded up the paper so that it would fit into his shirt pocket. Then he grabbed his jacket and keys and went home.

* * *

A/N: There's just one chapter left, so keep looking for the final update. 


	6. Hard Day's Night

A/N: The final chapter…

* * *

Chapter Six: Hard Day's Night

* * *

Carl arrived home at about 5:30 and started cooking dinner. He'd grown quite comfortable in the kitchen over the years and had actually grown to like cooking. On Thursday night, he pulled a pair of chicken breasts from the freezer and started seasoning them. As he worked, his thoughts turned towards Brian Johnson and his burned out locker. Like Jack, he felt sorry for the kid, too, and wondered how his mother had reacted to the news. He knew Marie Johnson from company functions and had always found her to be critical and overbearing. He hoped she'd gone easy on him this time. It was obvious the kid was having a rough time as it was. 

_"Aren't you going to ask me why I had it?"_

Carl used his sleeve to wipe the sweat from his brow. Now he knew what everyone meant by "don't bring your work home with you".

Just as he was finishing pulling apart lettuce for the salad, Carl heard a key turn in the lock before the door to the apartment swung open. Carl ducked his head out into the living room. "Hey."

"Hey." Julia tossed her keys and briefcase onto the couch and removed her coat. "That smells good."

"Of course it does. I made it."

Julia gave him a peck on the lips. "How was your day?"

"Shit. How was yours?"

Julia sighed and leaned against the dining room table, which was approximately two feet from the entrance to the kitchen. "Long." She removed her shoes and let them dangle off of her fingertips, high heels knocking against one another. "I'm gonna go change."

Carl nodded and Julia disappeared down the hallway to their bedroom. He finished the salad and distributed it onto a couple of plates, then pulled the chicken breasts out of the oven and did the same with them. By the time Julia returned to the dining room wearing jeans and a t-shirt, Carl had the plates on the table and two beers open for them. Julia sat down at the table as Carl went to the tape player in the corner of the living room.

"I know what you're gonna put in."

Carl looked over at her and grinned. "Do not."

"Do, too."

"Wanna put your money where your mouth is?"

"Sure."

"How much?"

Julia thought about it for a moment. "Fifty bucks."

Carl laughed. "Okay, you're on." He turned his back towards her and pulled a cassette from the large box sitting on top of the stereo unit. He slipped it into the tape player, but didn't press play, then turned back to Julia expectantly. "Give it your best shot."

"Simon and Garfunkel, Bridge Over Troubled Water."

Carl's eyes widened in surprise. "How the hell did you do that?"

"I know you _that_ well."

Carl glared at her doubtfully and she laughed. "Okay, fine. You were singing 'El Condor Pasa' in the shower this morning."

"Damn, I thought you'd already left."

"I came back for my scarf."

"Cheater." Carl pushed play and returned to the table. He started to take a sip of his beer, but Julia held out her hand.

"Where's my money?"

Carl scoffed. "You really expect me to pay you?"

"Of course. That's the nature of a bet. The _loser_ pays the _winner_."

"It that a law or something?"

Julia grinned. "Maybe. You gonna argue with me about it?"

"Do I look that stupid?" Carl laughed. "Come on, Jules. Where'm I gonna get fifty bucks from?"

"Not my problem."

"I beg to differ."

"Isn't there someone you can blackmail?"

Carl grinned. "Hundreds."

"I'm sure you'll figure something out."

Carl rolled his eyes. "I should've known better than to marry a lawyer."

Julia smirked. "There are plenty of divorce specialists in my department. I can give you their number."

Carl managed not to laugh. "Nah, I'll take my chances."

Julia shrugged and took another bite of chicken. They ate quietly for a while as Simon and Garfunkel carried on in the background. After a while, Carl looked across the table at his wife. Her hair was long and blonde, coming a few inches past her shoulders. Even in a baggy old t-shirt, she looked as good as the first time he saw her from across the courtyard next to the Accounting building. He was just getting out of class and she was eating lunch by herself, sandwich balanced on her knees. He'd stopped to watch her eat, standing there for God knows how long before she finally looked up. He'd smiled and she'd blushed, which caused him to grin even wider. When she burst out laughing, he knew he was all over.

Julia glanced up at him, mouth full of salad. "What?"

Carl smiled. "Nothin'."

Julia smirked. "Liar."

Carl shrugged innocently and finished off his beer. He watched her eat for a few minutes before he set the bottle back down on the table. "I saw Harold Johnson today."

Julia froze, fork suspended in the air in front of her mouth. Carefully, she put the fork back down on her plate and looked up at him. "Where?"

"School. He was picking up his son."

Julia nodded. "Did you say anything to him?"

"No, he never saw me."

Julia watched him closely. "What are you thinking?"

Carl shrugged as though he wasn't all that bothered by it. "Not much. Just… it's just bringing up old memories."

Julia nodded. She knew what memories he was talking about because they were hers, too. When Carl was fired, Julia was almost finished with her first year of law school with two years to go. Not only did they have to move out of their dream home and into an apartment, but she was also forced to ask her parents for the money to finish school. Even with her partial scholarship, Carl's salary as a janitor wasn't doing much but paying the bills, and sometimes it wasn't even doing that. It was a rocky time for them and there were days that Carl worried she might leave him. Hell, there were days when he thought he might leave her. Much as he wanted to believe good old Johnny, he had to admit that they needed more than love to keep a marriage going. A little bit of patience and a lot of compromise went a long way. A steady paycheck didn't hurt either.

"Well, it doesn't matter anymore."

Carl glanced up at her. "What doesn't?"

"Harold Johnson." She shrugged. "He's a greedy bastard and he screwed you over, but he's not in our lives anymore."

Carl nodded, though on days like this one, it felt quite the opposite. "Yeah." He got up from the table and started clearing away their plates. Julia picked up her briefcase from the couch in the living room and started spreading out stacks of papers on the dining room table.

Carl let the dishes soak for awhile and went into the living room to watch the college basketball game. It was Houston versus Virginia and the winner was going to the finals. Carl didn't have a stake in either team, but he liked sports and enjoyed watching the games. During halftime, he got up to do the dishes, then settled back down on the couch for the second half, fresh beer in hand.

The game went into overtime and Houston ended up winning 49 to 47. Carl turned off the television and dumped his beer bottle in the garbage. Julia, who was still looking over some papers at the dining room table, took off her reading glasses and looked up at him. "You going to bed?"

Carl nodded. He came up behind her and looked over the papers in front of her. Julia was the assistant to the head of the research department for her firm, meaning that even though she didn't stand up in front of the jury, she still had a lot of work to do. Carl picked up one of the papers. "What's the case?"

"Class action lawsuit. Securities claims."

Carl nodded and glanced over the numbers listed on the page. Funny, but even after eight years, he could still understand what it all meant. He put the paper back down on the table and kissed his wife on the cheek. "Night."

"Good night."

Carl changed clothes and brushed his teeth before climbing into bed. He figured that sleep would come easy since he was so tired, but he was surprised to find himself still staring at the ceiling thirty minutes after lying down. He just couldn't keep his mind still. It wasn't Harold Johnson anymore, though he would always be a part of it all, no matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise. This time it was his own decisions that were bugging him. He'd often wondered how his life would have changed if he'd just taken Johnson's offer and resigned. He'd wanted to; it was obviously the best move career wise. But Carl didn't want to give in, to admit to something he didn't do. It felt too much like defeat and, like most people, he didn't like losing.

But he lost anyway and not just him either. He could still hear his mother crying on the phone the night he called her, could still hear his father's gruff, disappointed tone as he assured his son that everything would be alright, that he'd done the right thing. But had he really? In one single moment, with one single decision, he'd decided his and Julia's future. He'd decided to give up the dream home, the dream job, the dream life. He'd decided it for the both of them. Sometimes he wondered if it hadn't been selfish of him to do something like that when the stakes were so high.

Carl lay there for a long time, rolling it around in his head. At about 10:30, nearly an hour after he'd gone to bed, the door opened slowly and Julia came into the bedroom. She disappeared into the bathroom, where Carl could hear her brushing her teeth and washing her face. A couple of minutes later, she turned off the light and reentered the bedroom wearing one of his old shirts and a pair of sweatpants. She climbed into bed very carefully so as not to wake him and curled up on the left side of the bed, facing away from him. Carl scooted over next to her and wrapped his arm around her waist.

Julia shifted a bit to accommodate him. "I thought you were asleep."

Carl didn't say anything. A few minutes passed and Julia's body started relaxing as if she was falling asleep. Carl reached up and brushed the hair away from her ear. "Julia," he said quietly.

"Hmmm…" she murmured.

Carl hesitated. "If you could do it all over again…"

Julia didn't say anything, just moved her hand over the one he had lying against her stomach and brought it up to her chest. She entwined their fingers together and rubbed her middle finger against his wedding ring. He could feel her heart beating against his knuckles. After a moment, he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

* * *

THE END

* * *

A/N: Please let me know what you thought. Thanks for reading! 


End file.
